Artemis Hill
by Spirited Heart
Summary: Arty Hill lived along side of the greatest secret of mankind. He didn't know this, until one fateful night when his life was changed forever. OVER 1000 READS!
1. Prolouge

**A/N: Hello! It's Habsrock08 here. This is my second fairy tale type story. My other is called "Retribution", and it would make me happy if you could read it. Thanks and enjoy :) **

**Arty Hill and the Witches of Edinburgh**

Albany Lane in Edinburgh, Scotland

17th of November 1764 at One O'clock in the evening

**Prologue**

"That will show 'em," a mysterious man said as he nailed the coffin shut. He stood back, satisfied with his work. He was smiling bitterly.

"Thought you could escape me, eh?" He smirked, kicking the coffin. Muffled female screams came from inside, but he ignored them.

"You thought you would get away. You thought you would warn ye' little friends that I was comin' for 'em! But I was too smart for you, yeh witch." More screams.

"Yeh won't be screamin' when I find the rest of 'em, your little fam'ly. Did you know that every generation in my fam'ly has searched for you? It drove my father mad." The man was suddenly quiet. Memories of his father, sitting at his desk until the candle burned to the end of its wick, trying to find a trace of the infamous Edinburgh witch. But then it dawned on him. The man started laughing a horrible, maniacal laugh. Here he was, in the basement of his Edinburgh home, and he had caught the witch! He could restore the family name. He could fulfill his dreams, his father's dreams, and finally move to the good side of the city.

"Now I'm going to find the rest of your people, and don't—" Then, as if by magic, the house burst into flames.

The fire squad had arrived too late. By the time they had gotten to the house, it had already burned to the ground. No one was really sorry to see the old man go; he had been an outcast who came from a strange family. The neighbors said he didn't have any family members. The police did an investigation on the cause of the fire, but found nothing conclusive. A few said it was caused by witchcraft, but most scoffed. _Witchcraft?_ They questioned. _That's just a myth_. After a while, everyone forgot about it and went home. No one noticed the dark shape scurrying away into the night.


	2. Strange Happenings in the Public Square

**A/N: No one had the decency to review or read, so I just wrote more anyway. Take that! Enjoy. And please, please, please, please, PLEASE R&R.  
**

If you had been, by chance, walking the winding streets of Edinburgh, Scotland, in the year of 1764, you might have seen some very peculiar things. For one, none of the riffraff that were usually there were wondering the streets, and for one o'clock in the morning this was very odd. Another was that there was no light, except for that of a single streetlamp powered by a flickering candle on Albany Lane. There were no rats scurrying about the dirty streets, and for this section of Edinburgh that was very uncommon. But perhaps the strangest thing of all is what I am about to tell you. If you had been walking down Albany Lane on that cold December night, you would have seen a boy sprinting down the sidewalk. And if you had bothered to look any closer, you would have noticed that the boy, as he ran faster and faster, was starting to lift off the ground. And if you were still watching the boy, which would be very unlikely, you would have seen him make a final desperate leap and fly into the starry night above.

The city of Edinburgh was a city with two different sides; Old Town and New Town. New Town was the new, classy, and rich section, where nobility and other society members lived. The houses there were spacious and of the latest styles, and were placed in neat and well planned out rows on wide cobblestone streets. The people there lived in the lap of luxury; sheltered from all bad goings on. But then there was the Old Town.

When the New Town was built in 1707 and started to flourish, the Old Town quickly became the slums. People lived in cramped and unsanitary conditions, in drafty houses that were exposed to the filth of the dark streets. When they ran out of room to build houses in the Old Town, they simply built houses on top of each other, causing more poverty and crime. People wandered the streets during both the day and night, never going home because of who lived there or simply because there was no home at all. And it is my misfortune to say that young Artimis Hill did not live in New Town. He lived in Old Town, along with one of the greatest secrets of all time.

Our story begins on December 2, 1764. It was dawn, and a light gray mist hovered over Old Town. The streets were bustling with those who had places to go, and the people who made a living by picking pockets. This is where we find Artimis Hill, known as Arty to those who are his friends, not out on the street, but gazing out of a small third floor window. Arty was an orphan, and had been since his third birthday, eleven years ago. He now lived with a family that he had no relation with, and on the whole, he was certainly glad of it.

"Artimis Hill, you ungrateful rat!" screamed a woman from downstairs whom Arty refused to obey by any means, "you get yer sorry behind down here this instant or I'll skin yer hide off, yer lazy bampot!" Arty, who certainly didn't enjoy being called a rat and an idiot, rolled his eyes at Aurnia, his caretaker, whom he hated with a bitter passion. Aurnia was a large lady with a face shaped like a tomatoe, and could scream like the dickens. Despite her name, which meant golden lady, she was exactly the opposite.

"ARTIMIS! GET DOWN HERE!!" Arty seriously considered going down there. He really did. But that would be against his law of life: _ignore the rules and do whatever. _So, with a brazen smile on his face, Arty slid his slender frame out the window, and hopped onto the roof above.

Arty was hit with frigid air, making him fully aware that he had forgotten his warn woolen coat inside.

"Blast!" He murmured angrily. "I can never remember anything. Curse this forgetful mind of mine." But Arty could hear Aurnia's yells of anger coming steadily closer, so Arty chose the wise decision of continuing down the roofs of Albany Lane.

In about ten minute's time, Arty had reached the main square. He spotted a friend of his, Mr. MacColloney, standing at his booth where he sold bread everyday. Mr. MacColloney was an old man; with so many wrinkles it was hard to count them. But he was a kind man, and his eyes always held a little sparkle of mischief. Arty was sure that if they were the same age they would have much more in common then most people would think.

"Ah! There's me boy! You're a bit later then usual, Arty. What's the trouble, lad?" Arty sat down, and gratefully took the fresh loaf of bread that Mr. MacColloney handed to him.

"Ah…you know. The usual. That Aurnia has been giving me a rough time lately." Immediately Mr. MacColloney's face lit up with a mischievous grin.

"Aye. You've been reddening up the fire, haven't you me boy!" Arty started snickering; in fact he had been causing trouble lately, for that was what he did best.

When he got home, Arty endured the fiercest bashing that he could remember. His arms and face were sore from the vicious beating, and he dragged himself up the rickety staircase and collapsed onto his bed, which shuddered from the newly acquired weight. Arty stared into the mirror on his bedside table, looking at himself. He had raven black hair, which he was always pushing out of his eyes. It curled slightly at the bottom, and went down to his neck. His eyes were like two shimmering pools of mysterious blue, and quivered when he smiled. All of his features were slender and pointed, and despite what he said to others, he actually did like them.

Artimis did not regret his outing. In fact, he would rather be beaten then have no freedom. But after what happened the following morning, he would soon wish that he was never born.

Arty continued his daily routine of strolling about the Town Square, checking up on the activities of his friends, both young and old. He was just about to say something to Mr. MacColloney when shouts and jeers came out of an impending crowd. They seemed to be carrying pitchforks, and were following a small wagon that looked like it was holding a person.

"What do you think that is?" asked Arty.

"They're hanging a witch today, lad. And its best that you don't see it, for it's not a lovely site to see." _What? A witch being hung in Edinburgh? _

"They're hanging a witch? Right here, in the public square?" Arty was astonished. In fact, he was horrified! Sure, it was probably just an old hag, but still. They didn't deserve to die.

"Yep." Sighed Mr. MacColloney nonchalantly. "It's best to be off on your day, laddie. I don't want you to see it." Artimis, being the authority-defining teenager that he was, looked at his friend, shrugged his shoulders, and ran off to see what the hubbub was all about.

After much pushing and shoving, Arty found himself immersed in a yelling crowd. About one hundred were gathered around what appeared to be a wooden wagon. Arty fought his way to the front of the mob, wanting to see who was the unlucky old woman who was about to be hung today.

But, as Arty's vision focused, he noticed that the woman to be hung was no old lady. There, in the wooden wagon amongst a sea of cruel screams and jeers, was not an old hag, but a young girl. And not just a girl, mind you, but a _beautiful_ girl. Needless to say, that certainly caught Arty's attention. But there was something just so peculiar about her…something that made her stand out from everybody else. Well, for one, she was dressed in midnight blue robes that clung gracefully to her slim figure. Her brown hair hung in dark locks, hiding some of her frightened face, casting shadows on her delicate nose but leaving her striking green eyes visible to the public. But obviously, the public didn't care about her beautiful sea green eyes, seeing as they were about to hang this beautiful creature.

Arty was dumb-struck with feelings that he had not had before. He knew that he had to save her. Trying desperately to catch her attention, he waved his arms in her direction hoping to tell her that it was going to be alright…he hoped, at least. He could tell that she was breathing very hard, and her eyes were dashing desperately around the crowd obviously realizing that these were her last moments on earth. Finally, she looked at him; her eyes pleading frantically with his own hoping that he would get her message. But then, Arty realized that the wagon, and the mob, had arrived at the hanging platform. Time was running out.

The wagon pulled to a halt behind the platform, and the crowd waited anxiously. Two men pulled the girl up to her feet, and threw her down forcefully onto the wooden planks of the platform. She winced in pain, but kept her tears back. A man in a black robe strutted onto the platform, and kicked her in the gut. She cried out briefly, but then quieted herself. The man smiled evilly at her pain, and pulled out a scroll from inside the deep folds of the robe.

"December the Third, 1764. You are hereby accused of practicing witchcraft in the city of Edinburgh, Scotland." The man yelled in his booming voice. It echoed across the large public square, so every person anxiously awaiting the sentence could hear. "The sentence," he continued, "is…death." The crowd erupted into cheers, but Arty wasn't listening. He needed to come up with a plan. Now.

The man bent down to where the girl was laying on the platform, and asked her a question.

"Do you deny this accusation?" he whispered ferociously. Her eyes narrowed and she spit in his face. The man jumped back, and coolly whipped the spit out of his face.

"Kill her." He yelled to the executioner. Two men came out and took the girl by her arms and struggled to pull her up to the noose. She did her best to try and run away, but the men were just too strong for her. The adjusted the noose around her thin neck, and gave the signal to the executioner. But just then Arty saw something in the pocket of the man who was standing in front of him: a newly sharpened knife. Arty seized it and propelled himself up onto the platform; surprising everyone around. He grabbed the girl, took off the noose and placed the knife and her neck aggressively.

"If anybody moves I'll slit her throat." He growled. The men around laughed.

"You? But you're just a boy. You may slit her throat if you want. We don't quite care. We were going to kill her anyway." _Oh. Well, then…that's different._ Thought Arty, _darn! Why didn't I think of that? Man…_he muttered curses under his breath, once again blaming everything on his horrible forgetfulness.

But suddenly the girl Arty was holding leapt out of his grasp. She stood in the center of the platform, her eyes flashing. She uttered a strange incantation, and then Arty felt the world spinning beneath him as he fell into a dark, never-ending hole.


End file.
